


Winter

by The_OTP_Fangirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Countries Using Human Names, Exam Coursework, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7866829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_OTP_Fangirl/pseuds/The_OTP_Fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As winter’s last few flakes fell, the only human witness in the silent woods was the old man. </p><p>---</p><p>Human AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my GCSE creative writing pieces that I did. It got 14/15 overall marks, and helped to push my final grade up to an A* (Yes, I received my results today!).
> 
> It apparently reduced my teachers to tears, so I do hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Comments and Kudos are LOVED, as usual!

As winter’s last few flakes fell, the only human witness in the silent woods was the old man. He was tall and heavily built for his age, his cropped hair grey with age and his body wrinkled and weary. Clothing his body was a long, tan trench coat, just as worn as its wearer. A scarf gripped itself around the man’s neck, wrapped a couple of times for warmth, and the long ends trailed in the snow. Ivan Braginski looked at the sky with his violet eyes, somehow filled with the youth his body no-longer remembered. Snowflakes gently landed on his nose and melted, and still he stood silently in the woods.

Cold had worked its way into Ivan’s bones, hugging the man with its presence. He was used to it - after all, he was Russian. Nethertheless, it slowly brought the lumbering man to a halt against a tree, where his legs slowly helped him to lie against it.

Fiddling with his scarf ends, a flurry of movement caught his eye. From out of nowhere, a bitter wind had lifted up the sleeping snow, causing it to form shapes in front of Ivan’s eyes. He cocked his head slightly, wincing at the loud cracking his impliable bones made.

And then the wind was gone. in its place was a sunny winter day, the light dancing with the snow in a beautiful ballet dance. There were three snowmen sitting in front of him, and three children in front of that.

Ivan knew who they were instantly. The tallest and oldest was a girl - Katyusha - his sister, her short blonde hair pulled back with a couple of hairclips and a familiar headband. A more youthful and playful four year old boy stood next to her, patting at the chest of his snowman and quietly complaining that his wasn't as good as Kat’s. Lastly, the youngest was barely three, yet tottering around and clinging to her brother’s leg desperately and lovingly: the beautiful Natalia, whose long hair was pulled back loosely with a white ribbon. If Ivan listened well enough, which was a feat for his old ears, he could hear their conversations, although he already knew them by heart.

“Now Ivan, I’m older than you, so I can lift more and build bigger!” Katyusha tried to calm her brother, bending down behind the snowman and pulling out a parcel. “Besides, it’s your birthday. We can’t have you getting upset on your birthday!”

The boy suddenly froze and looked at the parcel, the expression on his face confused. His birthday? Had he forgotten about it? Slowly, he reached out and opened it, releasing a gasp of surprise and happiness. “A scarf? Thank you Kat! Thank you!” he laughed happily, nearly knocking Natalia off him as he leapt about.

Katyusha grinned and gently took the scarf out. She wrapped it around Ivan’s neck once, twice, three times, and finally, a fourth. “Oh, it’s a little long, but you’ll grow into it, won’t you? I spent a long time on this, and it’s all yours!”

A crisp wind suddenly brushed the scene away, leaving Ivan shivering for a moment in the grip of winter. His rigid body tried to burrow down, to find some warmth in the Siberian wastelands but as quickly as it’d come, the wind left once more, a new scene in its place. Only this scene was less happy, a threatening snowstorm on the way and the air temperature dropping by many degrees.

He was seven and running as fast as he could, looking exhausted and ready to drop, but the fear was pushing him along. Chasing him was a young, but very loud boy. With pale skin and hair, the red eyes of the albino only made him a more terrifying sight: Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Suddenly, two taller and older boys stepped out in front of the running child. They couldn’t be more than a year older, yet their threatening manner only made them seem more terrifying. The boy froze in his tracks and backed away nervously. The taller one wore glasses and was deathly quiet, whereas his shorter friend had spiked blonde hair and was a lot louder.

“Looks like we caught him Berwald,” the louder boy laughed to his friend, stepping closer and resulting in making their prey squeak in fear and try to back away.

Gilbert rounded the tree and stopped his escape, folding his arms across his chest. “Not fair Matthias - you said I could have him this time!”

“Should’ve gotten here sooner then!”

There was no reply from the silent adolescent, yet his body spoke for him. Ivan was going to be beaten up, whether he liked it or not. The older Ivan frowned from his vantage point, only now questioning why young boys had enjoyed beating him so much. What gain did they get from pummelling a young child into the ground and then leaving him alone in the show, too scared to tell anyone?

He couldn't watch anymore, and so a gentler breeze pushed away that scene and carefully replaced it with another. Ivan was sitting in the snow, slowly encouraging a sunflower to grow. It was hard in those times; the wind never made it easy for the flowers to take root and rise. That was why Ivan loved the sunflowers so much: it somehow stood taller than all the others under such a hard battering, never giving up. The boy took the flower as a role model, something to use for his life.

And with that,the scene was gone. Ivan wanted to move, to get inside, call his ageing sisters and share with them the memories. But he couldn't. The Russian’s body was rheumatic from cold, causing him to give in to the soft lullaby that winter sung to him, still trying to soothe Ivan into staying where he was.

A new scene slowly formed in front of him, and Ivan suddenly realised something: these scenes… they all revolved around this one place. Ivan had brought himself back to the place where some of his most important lessons and life events had happened. With that in mind, he was eager to look and see what he would view next.

Only, it wasn't as happy as he hoped it’d be. Aged twenty five, Ivan stood staring into the distance, not caring for the heavy flakes that landed on his trench coat and hair. His body was still green, yet Ivan held himself maturely, like the adult he’d become. Natalia was gripping to his arm tightly, head on Ivan’s shoulder and murmuring. Although they were quiet, Ivan could hear each word as clearly as he had when the memory had formed.

“You’ll be able to support a family now. The whole family. You’re head of one of the biggest companies in the world - you could have anything you wanted.” She smiled at Ivan, one delicate, cold hand brushing the snow off his broadly built shoulders.

Ivan sighed and looked down. “It means I spend time away from home. From you and Katyusha. I would like to see the world, yes, but I would also like to live here and be happy!” As little as Ivan liked the clinging, often possessive nature of his youngest sister, he still loved her dearly, and the very thought of leaving was something he struggled to bare.

The scenes weren’t lasting as long anymore, as if winter was starting to lose its grip on the man under the tree. He couldn’t feel his body anymore, and it seemed like the embrace he was in was starting to loosen, to loosen on his life.

As if feeling this, a crisp breeze stormed around the woods, quickly becoming more bitter by the second. It thrust a memory in Ivan’s face, almost demanding the tired old man see this one, for it would be better than the rest.

It was. Ivan couldn’t stop the smile on his face as he watched himself at a younger age, stepping through the clearing with careful steps. Walking beside him was a smaller man - blond, with glittering blue eyes framed behind glasses. He looked less at home in the snow than Ivan did, yet kept pace fairly easily. Alfred F Jones, the man who had convinced Ivan there was goodness to the heat he had found outside of Russia.

Stumbling for the fourth time, Alfred gripped onto his taller partner and used him to regain his balance, grumbling in an American accent, “dude, if I fall one more time I’m going to become a popsicle!”

Ivan laughed, gently kissing the man and smiling as he kissed back. “Now Fredka, don’t saying things like that - I’ll have to thaw you out. Besides, we’re here now.”

And for the first time since he was a child, the clearing suddenly became magical, winter freezing in its tracks to observe the warm bundle of light that was exploring the trees and occasionally falling flat on the silver path. Ivan laughed as he watched his lover, the secret relationship they shared kept firmly safe. Winter wouldn’t tell anyone about it; Ivan trusted the cold for that.

And then it was gone. No scene replaced it. No wind. No cold. The only thing that Ivan felt was a pleasant warmth in his body. Although there was no memory in front of him, Ivan knew what happened afterwards. They had kept a committed relationship for many years, even moving to America to keep it safe. However, as the Russian had neared his fifty-first birthday, Alfred had been shot dead, protecting a young girl when a gang attempted to attack her. The man had always said he would be a hero, yet as he died, the winter had crept back into Ivan’s life once more, and a grieving Ivan had returned to Russia, where he lived the rest of his life out with his sisters. The company he’d built so successfully was left with Katyusha’s son, Toris. There were now no ends to tie, no goodbyes to make.

It was almost as if a sense of finality was in the clearing. As winter’s last few flakes fell, the only human witness in the silent woods was an old man, who closed his eyes and let his friend and longtime companion, winter, kiss him to sleep...


End file.
